Help
by WeAreCanon
Summary: Sherlock begins having nightmares and John is the one who finds out who was behind them.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N) Here you go my friends, a slightly sad Johnlock fic, enjoy! -AidaMae**

**I'm Sherlock and Princessskyes is John (In later chapters we split Sherlock and Moriarty) **

* * *

Sherlock was pacing nervously as he waited for his brother. He kept looking to the clock, which read 3:50 pm, on this horrible Thursday afternoon.

"Sherlock, please just take a seat and explain to me what is so urgent?" Mycroft said, confused with his brother's unusual behavior.

"I need..." Sherlock began before sighing with disgust. "Help." He whispered the last word, still pacing.

"I'm sorry, help? What is so wrong that even you can't figure out?" His brother asked, laughing at the absurd idea.

"Its John." Sherlock answered before getting nervous again.

"Brother, did you really come her for relationship advice?" His older brother joked, giving a small smile. There was a slight pause.

"He was taken. By Moriarty." Sherlock said stopping with the name of his greatest foe. Even Mycrofts' smile faded. Before he spoke with what Sherlock figured, 'How is that even possible?' the taller man closed his eyes and thought. He thought back way before 3:45 pm, when he first entered his brother's office. Before 11:25 am when Sherlock first saw the note. He went all the way back to Tuesday morning, 6:30 am.

John was sitting in the living room, writing in his blog when Sherlock walked in. "You're up early," he commented.

"Hm? Oh yes..." Sherlock answered, walking over to the couch. "Couldn't sleep." He added, laying down and staring up at the window.

"Something troubling you?" John asked, turning his attention from his blog to make sure his friend- "colleague"- was okay.

"I have a really bad feeling, John. Something bad is going to happen and I haven't the slightest clue as to why." The wiser gentlemen spoke, being honest with his flatmate.

John bit the inside of his cheek, looking thoughtful. "Well, that doesn't sound good. Did you sleep alright?" Sherlock looked around. He didn't want to admit that he was having nightmares, but he didn't want to lie either. Instead he just stayed quiet. Looking back up to the ceiling.

"Sherlock?" Suspicion creeped into John's voice. "You have been sleeping, haven't you?" he asked, his tone stern.

"John, what time is it?" Sherlock said, quickly ignoring the question.

John sighed. "Six-thirty," he answered. It didn't take a genius to see that Sherlock was avoiding his question, so he stood up and walked over to the Consulting Detective and stood over him. "Sherlock, why haven't you been sleeping?" he asked sternly.

"6:30 am on... Tuesday, yes?" Sherlock began. "We should go out and get some breakfast today."

"Sherlock!"

"Nightmares."

John sighed. "And... Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I don't get nightmares John." Sherlock muttered, feeling weak for just saying the word.

"You just said you do," John countered.

"This is the first time that I ever gotten a nightmare." The taller male said, not moving his eyes from the ceiling.

"Well, we all have nightmares," John said, "Mind if I ask what it was about" Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in the couch before sitting up. He looked to John then looked at door. He answered in a very quiet voice that John wasn't able to hear.

"What was that?" John asked.

"You..." Sherlock whispered, eyes locked on the door.

"You..." John shifted. "You had a nightmare, about _me_?"

"Yes."

John sighed. "Great," he muttered. "And what did I do, in your nightmare?" Sherlock didn't answer, instead he once again changed the topic.

"What time is it now?"

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "About seven, probably," he answered.

"There's still time for breakfast."

"Alright then." The shorter man shrugged. "Let's go eat, eh?" Sherlock didn't answer but simply grabbed his coat and headed out the door. John quickly followed behind, saying a goodbye to Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock failed to do. By 7:42 they were sitting in the small diner where they had their first case together.

"I'll have two pancakes, a side of hashbrowns, and some tea." Sherlock ordered without even looking at the menu.

John quickly ordered, and turned to Sherlock. "You didn't answer my question earlier," he said.

"An obvious observation John."

"Yes, well I was hoping to get an answer," John insisted, not planning on giving up soon.

"I see." Sherlock commented before looking out the window.

John sighed in exasperation. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"How important is it that you must know?" He asked, looking John in the eyes.

John sighed. "It isn't," he muttered, "It can help to talk to people, though." Sherlock thought for a moment, staring into John's eyes. Soon he winced at remembering his nightmare causing him to look out the window.

"You... were killed..." He whispered, afraid that if he said it any louder it would come true.

"Wait, you... Had a nightmare, where I was _killed_?" John asked. "Is that something you worry about often?" he asked, breaking eye contact for a moment.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, as their drinks came out.

John stared silently at Sherlock for a minute. "Well, you shouldn't worry, I've come close to death many times and yet, here I am." He took a quick drink and directed his gaze out the window.

"I know, but this time it was different, it was more... real." Sherlock said, lost in the terrible memory of John's death.

"I fought in Afghanistan, in case you don't remember," John reminded him. "It was just a bad dream."

"Right of course... dreams can't come true." Sherlock said, more to himself than out loud.

"Believe me, I've had my share of nightmares," John said. "You shouldn't worry about it." There was nothing from Sherlock but a blink.

"I'm going for a walk." He declared as he left John to his thoughts.

"What about breakfast?" John asked.

"Just bring it home." Sherlock said as he left. _Just a dream Sherlock, don't be foolish thinking it could be anymore._ Sherlock found himself walking to a park. He sat down at a bench, taking a sigh before mustering up the courage of reminding himself of the dream.

"_Sherlock! Please! I need you!" John shouted as the blood dripped down his face like tears._

"_Oh just be quiet, your knight in shining armor won't notice you're gone till he sees that note." That very familiar voice spoke._

"_Shut up Moriarty!" John snarled, trying to get out of the ropes he was bound in._

"_That isn't as fun though. I like this game, John. Seeing you bleed. Its fun." Moriarty laughed as he took a knife and made another small cut._

Sherlock shuddered as he was unable to continue the nightmare. At first his dreams consisted of John being tortured, last night John was finally killed, and it scared Sherlock more than the other nightmares.

_I wonder what's gotten into him._ John had noticed his flatmate's strange behavior recently, and not just on that day. It had been going on a while, it seemed, the nightmares, the insomnia, for days or even weeks. But Sherlock wouldn't talk to him about it. _He's so stubborn, he won't talk to anyone._ John looked out the window.

Hours passed and Sherlock finally returned home. He went back to the couch and just stared at the ceiling. He was thinking and tapping his fingers.

"Your leftovers are in the fridge," John said, hearing the man enter. He continued to stare at his laptop screen, as nothing came into his interest to write.

"You can have them, not hungry." Sherlock said, feeling slightly dizzy.

"Have you eaten anything today?" John asked, giving up on his blog and turning to the taller man.

"Is that relevant?" Replied the blue eyed male.

"Yes," John said. "You need food to live. Your skinny enough as it is," he added turning back to his computer.

"Eating takes too much time." Sherlock said, as if it was a perfectly acceptable reason as to his lack of meals.

"Sherlock, when was the time you actually had a proper meal?"

"John I'm not a child, I can take of myself." The taller man stated, avoiding the question.

"Then stop acting like one."

"I'm simply not hungry at this moment." Sherlock stated.

"And when was the last time you ate?" John repeated.

"Saturday."

John was silent for a moment, staring at the man on the sofa. "Saturday- you haven't eaten... Since _Saturday_? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"If the nightmares stop..." Sherlock whispered, instantly regretting he said those words out loud.

"Wait you're..." John stared at Sherlock. "You mean you're actually... Are the nightmares really that bad?" Sherlock laid there silently, turning slightly pale remembering the nightmares. _Think Sherlock, when they did start..._

"Wednesday of last week, John where did I go?"

"I don't know," John replied. "Why, what does it matter?"

"It's when they started!" Sherlock shouted, leaping out of the couch before falling to the floor.

John was quick to Sherlock's side, helping the taller man stand. "Sherlock, you really should eat something."

"I'll eat when I can sleep." Sherlock stated before getting up and rushing out the door.

"No, Sherlock!" John grabbed the taller man's wrist before he could get out the door. "You need to eat, you could pass out."

"There isn't time to waist John, its already..." Sherlock pulled out his phone, "11:30. I have to visit a whole day in five hours. I have to go now!" Sherlock shouted pulling out of John's grasp and running off.

"Where are you going?!" John called.

"To the book store!"

John made a last-minute decision to follow the other man, grabbing his coat on the way out.

"Glad to know you'll catch me when I fall." Sherlock commented, as they both entered the taxi. "To the bookstore three blocks down."

"Huh? Right... Why are we going to the bookstore?"

"That's where I went after I woke up. From there I went to the newspaper stand, back to the flat and I went to take a nap, and that's when it started." Sherlock said, a spark of fear and excitement in his eyes.

"So... We're going to retrace your steps to find whay triggered your nightmares," John clarified

"Excellent deduction John. A plus." Sherlock said, cracking a small smile for the first time in the last week.

John smiled at the sight, though he still didn't understand how walking around town was going to reveal the source of Sherlock's nightmares.

Soon the duo arrived at the bookstore. Sherlock marched in and went straight into the mystery section. "These are my favorite." Sherlock whispered, as he looked down the row before stopping on a book. He pulled it out. "This is the Library's latest book." John looked at the cover which read, _Mysterious of the Wise Man _by _Andrew Scott._

"What's it about?" John asked curiously. "Have you read it?"

"Yes, yesterday. It's about a male detective who solves riddles set up by this villain and they end up falling in love." Sherlock said, picking out other books.

"Oh, that's... Interesting." John gave a small nod.

"Yes very... familiar too. The characters."

John shifted uncomfortably, hoping he didn't understand what Sherlock was getting at. "Are they?" He cleared his throat.

"Hm, yes..." Sherlock pondered for a moment. "Alright take the Andrew Scott book and follow me." Sherlock said as he fast walked out of the library.

John grabbed the book and followed the taller man, as instructed. Sherlock went over to the newspaper stand. He stared off, inspecting it. In a matter of seconds he shooked his head.

"It has to be that book..." He muttered, before walking off and calling a Taxi.

"Coming John?"

"Yes, I'm coming," John replied, having to take twice as many steps to match the long paces Sherlock was able to make with his long legs.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was standing around and pacing in his kitchen. He was muttering something under his breath while looking at the clock ever so often. 2:30.

"What's wrong now?" John asked, not really in the mood to perform another investigation.

"These results are being as slow as possible." Sherlock stated, before sighing and going to sit down. As he sat down he felt his blood rushing to his head and responded by putting his hands on the sides of the top of his head.

"Results?" John asked.

"Of the book pages."

John sighed, realizing that Sherlock must have some crazy theory about his nightmares, involving drugs or something. "Sherlock, did it occur to you that you could just be having nightmares because... That's what people do?"

"That was a possibility, but then I remembered John. There's a poison that can influence one's unconscious mind into thinking whatever someone wants. If that entered my system as I read that book, that would explain the nightmares."

John made a mental note to read the book. "A sounds theory, except... What would be the motivation for someone to poison a you into having nightmares?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Sherlock looked to the time, before sighing. "Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?" He asked, getting off topic.

"Um... Sure." John blinked in slight confusion at the sudden change in topic. "Sherlock, could your nightmares be anxiety induced?" A bit of a stretch, since he couldn't think of anything that would be bothering his friend, but it was probably the most sound theory as of yet.

"The only anxiety I'm getting is because of these nightmares."

John shook his head. "If you say so," he said.

"Thank you..." Sherlock whispered, before getting up back into the kitchen to see if the results are done.

"How does this test work anyway?" John inquired as he followed.

"Simple forensic analysis. You take a sample of the paper, and place it through a series of test to see if its poisoned, then see what poison."

"Right." After a few minutes they tests were finished. They came up positive.

"So... Someone is drugging books," John clarified. "Why?"

"Have there been any recent suicides?" Sherlock asked, looking to John.

"I don't know," John answered, walking back into the living room to get his laptop. Sherlock sighed as he followed his flatmate. As John opened his computer he took of the time. 3:00.

"By the way, we'll be leaving for dinner in an hour and a half."

John nodded. "Alright." He checked a news site for recent suicides.

"Well?" Sherlock asked, getting impatient.

"Well, yeah, there have been a few. But they don't seem connected." John turned back to Sherlock. "Is there any way to tell if it was caused by the drug?"

"The Death reports, they should have any information if they victim has been drugged." Sherlock answered. "We have a friend we need to visit." Sherlock announced, going out the front door. Seconds after he left there was a small shout, followed by loud thumping.

"Sherlock?" John called, standing up and running to investigate. As John reached the stairs he found Sherlock at the bottom with a bloody nose.

"Fetch me a tissue, please?" Sherlock asked, trying to regain his sight.

Rather than doing what Sherlock requested, John handed him a handkerchief and helped him to his feet. "What happened?" he asked.

"I walked out and I started seeing spots, then my whole body just collapsed." Sherlock said, wincing in pain.

"Let's get you into bed." John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's back (not that he could really prevent the taller man from tumbling down the stairs if he were to collapse again, but it was a nice sentiment.) "You don't have to sleep, I just want you somewhere safe if you pass out."

"John, no, I have to see, the..." Sherlock started before shaking his head to get rid of the dizzy spell.

"What do you have to see?" John asked as he continued to half-drag Sherlock up the stairs, he figured whatever it was he could deal with it while Sherlock rested.

"The reports of the victims." Sherlock said, trying to keep himself up as they went their flat, and more importantly, the couch.

John nodded. "Right, but right now you have to rest, you won't be much use in this state."

"No point in rest if I can't sleep, its just wasting time."

John rolled his eyes, finally dragging Sherlock into his room. "What are you going to accomplish like this? Falling down the stairs again?"

"Just shut up." Sherlock said, giving up and sitting on the couch.

John took a deep breath and walked towards the kitchen. "You're at least going to eat something," he ordered.

"Fine." Sherlock muttered, laying down.

John returned from the kitchen a moment later with Sherlock's leftovers from breakfast heated up on a tray. Sherlock stared out, thinking. All hunger disappearing at a slight glimpse of one of the more gruesome moments of his nightmare.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," John commented, setting the tray on the coffee table. "You okay?"

"These... nightmares, are extremely vivid." Sherlock said, cutting a piece of the pancakes before closing his eyes to take a bite. It felt nice to eat something again.

John nodded understandingly. "Sorry to hear that," he said, taking a seat. "Do you... Want to talk about them?"

"Not really." Sherlock said, as began eating, trying to focus his thoughts.

John nodded. "Okay..." Sherlock lay back down and closed his eyes, focusing on something other than the nightmares. Soon he found himself falling asleep.

John smiled to see that and turned to the computer, figuring it wouldn't be a good idea to leave Sherlock alone for the time being.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock began shifting at the nightmare entering into his mind once again. He felt himself sweating bullets, shaking, and turning cold.

"Sherlock," a voice seeped through from the waking world into Sherlock's nightmare one, urging him to wake up, his shoulder was shaking slightly. "Come on, wake up now." Sherlock mustered himself to leave from the dream world and enter back into consciousness.

"How long was out for?" He asked, trying to remember when he fell asleep.

John, who was hovering over Sherlock, checked his watch. "About... Three hours. How'd you sleep?"

"Well, at first." The shaken up male answered.

"Right, until the, eh, nightmares. John nodded. "Right. And how are you now?"

"Tired and exhausted."

"Do you want to try to sleep again, or..?"

"I'm quite content with just laying here." Sherlock stated, too afraid to sleep, but not wanting to get up.

"Suit yourself. Do you need anything?" John asked.

"Will you get the papers, the medical ones." Sherlock asked.

"Sure thing." John turned to walk out the door, but paused. "Stay put, alright? Don't want you passing out in the streets." Sherlock made a 'hm' sound as to say he would stay put. Soon enough he found himself dozing off back into sleep.

When Sherlock awoke he found time went by a lot longer and he awoke to the house turning dark, with no sign of John. Sherlock sat up and grabbed his phone seeing a text from John.

Having difficulties getting the papers. Will be home late.

-JW

Sherlock sighed, he becoming increasingly bored, and slightly hungry. He began sitting up, slowly to avoid any blood rushing to his head. Soon he sat up and went to the fridge hoping there were something to eat. Lucky for him, there was a sandwich. Sherlock smiled assuming John made it for him when he was out the first time. After eating Sherlock went to lay down again, feeling like he needed more rest. Soon he was out until 11am the next morning

John's eyes fluttered open and glanced around. "Wh...?" He frowned, his head was throbbing and he had no idea where he was, and it felt like he was tied to a chair. _Again._ "Hello?" he called.

"Hello." A very familiar voice answered.

"J... Moriarty?" John shifted beneath his ropes and peered into the darkness. "How... Who's there?" he called, refusing to believe it was the dead criminal mastermind.

"I feel honored being your first guess." The voice spoke again, and John could practically see the grin that went with the sentence.

He tensed. "But how?" he asked. "I thought you..." rather than finishing his sentence, John sighed. "I guess you can never be sure these days, huh?"

"Life is full of surprises." Moriarty commented, coming out into the dim light, wearing a simple suit and tie.

"Yes, well... What do you want?" John was frightened of the answer, but he remained calm, his face blank.

"Just to play a little game." Replied Moriarty, smiling ever so slightly.

"Sure. How does it work?" John's heartbeat was growing faster, pounding against his ribs. But he had been in enough near-death situations, that he was able to stay fairly calm.

"I just have to bring Sherlock's nightmares to life." Moriarty explained, almost laughing.

John stiffened as he recalled Sherlock's earlier words, describing the nightmares, _You... were killed... _

"Would like me to read you a story? It's going to be some time until your knight in broken armor comes to rescue." Moriarty spoke.

"A... Excuse me, a _story_?" John asked, befuddled. "Why would you do that?"

"I need some feedback, like what most writers need." explained Moriarty.

John cleared his throat. "What's the story about?" he asked.

"It's about a male detective who solves riddles set up by this villain and they end up falling in love. _Mysteries of a Wise Man, _by Andrew Scott. It has nice ring to it, does it not?" Moriarty said, his voice dripping with slight venom.

John stiffened. _So Sherlock was right... _"I've heard of it," he said slowly.

"Aw, well that isn't as fun now is it?" Moriarty said, with a fake frown plastered across his face.

"I... Guess not." John wasn't quite sure how to respond.

"Correct, now what am I supposed to do until Sherlock gets here?" Moriarty asked, a grin slowly appearing on his face.

"Well there's always the book," John said. He was growing increasingly anxious and doing well at hiding it.

"Well that's boring now... I have a better idea," Moriarty grinned, going back into the darkness.

John's heart sped up and his breaths grew short and shallow. "Oh?" he asked. Moriarty came back with a small little knife.

"Let's play Doctor."

John swallowed dryly as he stared at the gleam of the blade in the low light. "N-no, I really would rather not." His breaths came faster as Moriarty approached him, his heart rate speeding up even more as fear finally overcame him.


End file.
